


Restart

by for_the_love_of_wolves



Series: Teen Wolf Bingo [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mates, Polyamory, Stiles Stilinski Is So Done, Witch Curses, soulbond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26636818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/for_the_love_of_wolves/pseuds/for_the_love_of_wolves
Summary: A witches' curse makes the pack living through their worst memories in an endless loop. Stiles is not affected because his magic protects him. But his mates suffer in front of his eyes. The aftermath is difficult.
Relationships: Chris Argent/Peter Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Series: Teen Wolf Bingo [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1834501
Comments: 2
Kudos: 98





	Restart

**Author's Note:**

> For Teen Wolf Bingo, Square Polyamory. (Since Stiles is underage, they are not doing anything sexual yet.) 
> 
> Tw: Mentions of canonical character deaths (Victoria and Allison), mentions of mercy killing (Hale fire) and suicidal thoughts (altough only briefly).

Chris knows something isn’t right.  
  
He can’t pinpoint it. But he is sure he shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be walking up the stairs in his house, shouldn’t be searching for Vic, for his - _Dead. She is dead._ \- wife. He should … Chris frowns. If only he could remember what it is that he should be doing.

 _There was a witch_ , Chris thinks vaguely. There was a dark witch and she … She did something. To him. To the others too? _Who_ are the others? Before he can think too much, the thought floats away like a leaf in a breeze. They are gone.

Chris’ feet move on their own account, bringing him further to his destination. Every piece of his mind dreads what is going to happen. He can’t stop it. He can only endure. Step after step, like breath after breath. Until it stops. Until he is in front of The room. The full moon bathes it in somber pale light. 

_I’ve been here before._ Déjà vu. Only, it isn’t a déjà vu. Not really. How many times has he lived through these moments? How many different forms have they taken? He has no idea.  
  
Chris swallows. A shiver of fear runs through his body. He doesn’t want to be here. 

_Not again. God. Please, not again._  
  
A voice cuts through the silence. “Chris.” 

He sighs and closes his eyes. As if that would make it go away. Would make _her_ go away. It doesn’t. 

“Look at me, Christopher.” Victoria’s voice is sharp. Crisp. Chris opens his eyes. She has always gotten what she wanted. This time is no exception. 

Victoria looks up at him. Her expression is determined. She is holding a knife. Its blade gleams in the moonlight. “It is time,” Victoria says.  
  
“No,” Chris breathes. “No …” _Please_.

“Yes,” Vic says curtly, approaching him and urging the knife into his hand. It feels cold.  
  
“I can’t …,” Chris says, his voice breaking on the last syllable.  
  
“You have to,” Vic whispers into his ear, her breath tickling his skin. “I can’t turn into a monster, Chris. Into an abomination.” 

Something inside Chris wants to tell her that she wouldn’t be _that._ Not a monster. She wouldn’t have to be. Derek’s voice echoes in his head. _I am a predator. But I don’t have to be a monster._ Derek. Where is Derek now? Wasn’t he there too, when the witch attacked? And Peter. God. _Peter._ Chris heart aches. 

“Chris,” Victoria says, drawing his attention back to her. “Do it now.” 

Her eyes start to change. They shine golden in the dim light. 

In the end, she leads his hand. Always leads him. The life trickles from her body and he watches her eyes go dull.  
  
Chris sobs. He blinks, and the scenery changes. He feels like he is falling through darkness. 

He opens his eyes to Allison dying in Scott McCall’s arms. Her face is white and her eyes too dark. Her words are only a whisper, forever not audible for Chris. They are meant for Scott alone. 

But there has been a version of this, where Allison has looked at him directly. She has just looked at him, and Chris couldn’t stand it. He had to turn his gaze away from her eyes. 

His little girl. His angel. His … She closes her eyes and her hand falls. He sees it like in slow motion. 

Chris closes his eyes. It hurts too much. 

When he opens his eyes again, he is back in his house. He is walking up the stairs, his heart pounding and his senses screaming. 

Restart.  
  


* * *

  
Peter has been here before. Has lived through an endless loop of his worst memories and tried to change the outcome although something inside him always knew it was not possible. 

He is not that surprised when he opens his eyes and sees flames. The only question is why. Why is he back here? What did throw him back into his own personal hell? 

Is he still in the coma? Has he never really woken up? Was everything just a dream? 

Everything … Even his mates? No. He can’t … He doesn’t want to believe that. There has to be another reason. It can’t have been just a fever dream.  
  
It is hard to think when his mind screams at him to run, to flee, to do _something_ . It is not real, he tells himself. It is not real. But, oh, it does _feel_ real. 

He can feel the heat of the blazing flames on his face, can feel the air getting heavy with smoke and gradually harder to breathe in, can feel the dizziness setting in, caused by the fog of wolfsbane mingling with the smoke.  
  
He has already slammed his body against the mountain ash barriers. He knows it is no use, but he plays his role anyway. Is forced to do it by an invisible force. A witch, he thinks in a far subdued corner of his mind. There has been a witch …

He is not able to catch the thought.  
  
Because now comes the moment of surrender. The moment of realization. They are all going to die down here. There is no escape. They are utterly trapped and he can’t even save the children. He can’t save anyone. 

And this is what drives him insane. Because he’s been protecting the pack his whole life. He has kept Derek safe when rogue hunters were after the boy, he protected Laura when an Omega - half insane and lonely - surprised her in the forest. It was him who took care of threats silently, discreetly. He would have given his life for one of them. 

But now, now there is nothing he can do. He can only watch helplessly, as one by one, they collapse, choking on smoke. He won’t see them grow up to be amazing. Because someone decided to end their lives. Because someone doesn’t want them in this world. 

A beam creaks and Peter knows it is going to collapse in a few moments. It is somehow going to destroy a mountain ash barrier. But it will be too late. By the time it breaks, no one will be able to get out of the basement. 

Talia is staring at him through smoke and flames, her eyes red but flickering. She has been trying to break the barriers too. There is a silent plea in her eyes. 

Peter’s stomach sinks. 

_No. God no. I don’t want to do this again. Not again_ , he thinks frantically, feeling the bile burning in his throat. 

But of course, he is going to do it. Just like he did it the first time. It is the last thing he is going to do before he lies down and gives up. At least that is what he thought back then. He would make sure the pups don’t feel the flames and then he’d die as well because there can’t be a life after this.  
  
It ends like the last few times he went through the circle.  
  
He lies down, the beam breaks and the mountain ash barrier breaks with it. Someone appears, a blurry figure without contrast. The someone grabs Peter’s arms and pulls him out. He tries to struggle for a few weak feeble seconds, his whole body numb from the pain, until he suddenly sees the sky and stars above him and knows, somehow he didn’t die and he will have to live with this.  
  
It might be the worst moment of all. 

Back then, it ended with darkness. It was deep and silent and mercifully numb. He spent an unknown amount of time floating in that darkness, before something pulled him back up and everything was agony.  
  
But here, in the circle, it ends with him closing his eyes only opening them to see the flames again.

  
Restart. 

* * *

Stiles’ magic protects him. It protects him from the curse that surges through the whole pack. It allows him to incapacitate the dark witch who was watching smugly as werewolves and humans alike sank to the forest floor. Her smile fell quickly when she discovered Stiles was completely unaffected and surrounded by his very own magic. She didn’t have time to ask, before it knocked her out. 

“Didn’t think I could be a danger to you, huh?” Stiles muses while his magic strings dark bonds around the witches’ body. “Well. You aren’t the first one.” And not the last one, he figures. 

When he is sure the witch is secure, Stiles turns around to the pack. He grimaces at the sight. Whatever it is that hit them, it is bad. Really, really bad. 

He sees Scott curled up in the grass, pressing his hands on his ears and groaning as if he is in pain. Lydia is right beside him, kneeling but swaying, her eyes wide and distant, as if she is seeing ghosts. Maybe, she does, Stiles muses. His gaze searches for his mates. 

His mates, who are the two most deadly beings Stiles knows. They don't look that deadly right now though.

Chris is still on his feet, but barely. He is leaning against a tree heavily, his eyes wide and unseeing. Stiles can see the tension in his body. 

Stiles approaches Chris and puts a careful hand on his arm, shaking him gently. “Chris!” Nothing happens. Chris still stares straight ahead, his eyes blank. There is cold sweat on his forehead and his body trembles. It looks like … Like a panic attack. 

Stiles starts to understand what is happening. The fear radiating from everyone surrounding him is almost palpable. The curse must show them something. Maybe … Things they are scared of. Shit. He has no idea how this can be undone. 

He turns, rubbing the back of his head. His eyes fall on Peter next and his stomach clenches. It is so strange to see Peter like this, kneeling on the ground, wolfed out and breathing frantically, his eyes closed and hands supporting his body, preventing him from toppling over.

Stiles swallows. Okay. He needs to do something. Maybe he can fight the magic doing this with his own magic. He is still learning, but … Well. He can’t stand around and wait while his mates and everyone else is suffering.  
  
Stiles takes a deep breath and lays his hand on Chris’ cold forehead, closing his eyes. He tries to locate the magic surging through Chris’ veines. He feels triumph when he senses a low pulsing and sees a lilac cloud in the darkness. Stiles focuses on his own magic and imagines it would be one of his hands, just like Deaton’s contact, the shaman, taught him. He reaches for the strange magic with it and grabs it, trying to pull at it. It resists and for a moment, Stiles feels something like an electric shock. But he doesn’t flinch back. Instead, he grabs tighter. He pulls and finally, the cloud of magic gives in. It actually feels like ripping something out of Chris. When Stiles opens his eyes, he is sweating too and feels slightly dizzy, but Chris’ blinks and his eyes are slowly clearing. They fall on Stiles and Chris frowns. 

“Stiles?” His voice is hoarse and almost stumbles. “What …” 

Stiles sighs in relief. “You’re back, great. Uh, I have to pull the curse out of the others as well, alright? Just … Try to calm down.” 

Chris shakes his head and groans. For a moment, Stiles is not sure if the hunter is really back in reality or if he is slipping back inside whatever he has seen. But then, Chris looks around searchingly, his eyes widening when he sees Peter. 

Stiles nods. “I know …” He reaches out to stop Chris when the hunter tries to take a stumbling step. “Stay here and take a few deep breaths. I am going to take care of Peter.”  
  
Chris hesitates but then nods and leans back against the tree, panting.  
  
Stiles pats his arm and heads for Peter quickly. He searches for the magic again and finds it, flickering in the darkness like a flame. God. Flames. Is that what Peter is seeing right now? Stiles hurries. He pulls the curse out as fast as possible and it actually hurts a bit.  
  
Peter gasps and opens his eyes. They are wild and unfocused. And gleaming. His fangs and claws are still out too. 

“Hey,” Stiles says, cupping Peter’s face, hoping he won’t lose some of his fingers. “You’re with me?” 

Peter flinches but then takes a deep breath, his eyes slowly focusing. He retreats his claws, which Stiles thinks is a good sign. “Stiles …” 

“Welcome back. I’m going to have to do a few more rounds of curse pulling. You just stay here until I’m done, alright?” Stiles says, patting Peter’s shoulder.  
  
And normally, there would be a snarky comment. A smirk. Anything. But Peter only nods and sits up, swaying on the spot and reaching up to rub his red-rimmed eyes.  
  
Stiles turns away and swallows around the lump in his throat. They are going to talk about this later. Right now, he has to help the ones still affected. 

Pulling the curse from so many people is hard work. In the end, Stiles feels like he could fall into his bed and sleep for a whole day. 

When Scott - the last one he releases from the curse - gasps and tries to ask him what happened, Stiles doesn’t feel like talking a lot. He just wants to collect his mates and go home. 

“The witch is over there, secured,” he says curtly, pointing into the vague direction. “You are welcome that I saved your asses again, etcetera, etcetera. Now I have to get my mates home.” 

“Uh. Sure,” Scott mumbles, rubbing the back of his head and grimacing. 

Stiles is so tired, he can’t even gather the energy to feel offended about the missing _thank you._  
  
  


* * *

  
  


“I’m fine,” Peter murmurs, echoing Chris’ words from just a few minutes ago.  
  
“You are not!” Stiles calls out, not for the first time, and throws his arms up in frustration. “Neither of you are _fine_! Stop lying. Jesus Christ, that witch made you live through your worst memories in an endless loop! You can’t be fine and that’s okay. I am not fine either. Can we please be open and honest to each other since we are mates now!” 

His mates look at him, frowning. Stiles sighs. He rubs his temples. His head starts to hurt. His nerves are about to be wrecked for another time. Great. 

He knows it is not easy for Chris and Peter to be open and trusting and accept affection or comfort, but by now, they should at least be able to tell him the truth. They have been knowing they are mates for a while now, after all. It was a fucking surprise and Stiles hasn’t been completely happy about it at first. 

How could he have been happy with the fact that he shared a soulbond with not only a formerly married hunter who happened to be the father of Allison who died because of the Nogitsune, but also with Zombie Wolf who thankfully didn’t kill people anymore and tried to be at least halfway part of the pack but still was the same werewolf that bit Scott, hurt Lydia and scared the shit out of Stiles?! 

Chris and Peter had a secret thing in the past - Stiles spit his cola out after hearing about it and then had a hysterical laughing fit which Derek watched with a very uncomfortable and suffering expression on his face - so they didn’t have that much trouble to accept the bond between them, but they did react quite horrified when Stiles slipped into the bond for some weird reason they can’t know. “You are too young,” was Chris’ statement. “You are the most annoying little shit I’ve ever met,” was Peter’s. 

Stiles first told them to go to hell. But well, you can’t resist a soulbond for long. It is just not possible. And God, Stiles hated it at first. He didn’t choose this. None of them did. But with the time … With the time he learned more things about Chris and Peter. Little things that formed a picture he started to cherish. 

“Let’s just try to be friends,” he said a long time ago, ignoring Peter’s snort at the choice of word. “We don’t have to do things we are uncomfortable with, right? We could just try to be close without killing each other …” He gave Peter a pointed look. Chris sighed heavily and finally nodded. “I am not going to have sex with you,” he pointed out and Stiles almost pouted, because … Well, he did think about sex with Chris and Peter, of course he did. They are surging hot. But he got it.

They spent more time with each other, sometimes all three, sometimes only Stiles with Peter, or Peter with Chris. He started to feel content around them. More content than with anyone else.   
  
So yes, he thought they could be at least honest to each other. 

Apparently, Peter senses his discomfort and disappointment, because he sighs and says, “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I appreciate your concern. It’s just … It’s not easy to open up. There has rarely been someone who wanted to listen.”

Chris flinches a little and Stiles knows he is thinking about the moment he left Beacon Hills with his family, to satisfy his father. Who, of course, was scandalized by the mere idea of his son dating a werewolf. And he has already guessed what Chris’ problem with opening up is. He was taught to be hard and strong. Talking about feelings and fears … Well that hardly fitted into the tough hunter image. 

“Well, now there is me,” Stiles says, crossing his arms. “I am here, I want to talk and listen. I won’t judge you and I certainly won’t tell anyone else. It’s just me, your mate. I do care. I really do. I want to help.” He really does. And he needs comfort too.  
  
Chris shifts his weight and sighs. He looks a bit guilty. Once, he told Stiles he is sorry he didn’t get two more affectionate and open mates. Someone less damaged. But Stiles told him to shut up because he didn’t want two other mates. “What about we all settle on the bed, since we are exhausted, and talk?” Chris suggests.  
  
Stiles nods and leads the way. For a moment, he fears Peter is going to run, because he has a habit to do that. Running from difficult situations. But this time, Peter follows him and Stiles almost sighs in relief.  
  
He needs them today.  
  
The bed is so comfy, Stiles almost falls asleep the instant he puts his head on a pillow. But he forces himself to stay awake just a while longer. “So, the witch …,” he starts. “She made you see something, right?” 

Chris sighs heavily. He leans against the headboard and folds his hands in his lap. “Yeah. It was like I was relieving my worst memories. Again and again. In different scenarios.” 

Stiles looks at Peter. “Was it the same for you?” 

Peter nods. He sits on the edge of the bed, with his back to Stiles and Chris. It isn’t ideal, but Stiles guesses, if it helps him to talk about stuff, he can live with it. “Yes. Worst memories indeed," Peter breathes.  
  
“The fire,” Chris says quietly, sympathy vibrating in his voice. 

“Yes … I almost thought I didn’t wake up from the coma at all,” Peter says, and his voice sounds a bit shaky. 

Stiles reaches out to touch his back. “This is real,” he says. 

Peter nods curtly. "Thank you."

“What did you see?” Stiles asks Chris who briefly closes his eyes. 

“Victoria and Allison,” he says tonelessly. “They died in front of my eyes, countless times.” 

Stiles feels so fucking sorry for them. And angry. So very angry at the witch. “I’m sorry you had to go through this. She played with your fears and your guilt,” he murmurs. 

“How are you?” Peter asks him, glancing at him.  
  
Stiles shrugs. “I am …” He groans. “Oh, screw it. I almost lied too. I am definitely not fine. I hated seeing you like this. In so much fear. And I hated pulling that awful magic out of you, it creeped me out. It hurt. And I’m so damn tired, I am sure I could sleep for a whole day.”  
  
“You should do that. We all should,” Chris says quietly. “We should sleep as long as possible, after … this. We have time. And we can talk some more after, when we have more energy.”  
  
Stiles nods firmly. “Yes, please. Let’s snuggle in this wonderful big bed - thanks for buying it Peter, by the way - and have breakfast in the morning.”  
  
Peter huffs. “That sounds awfully domestic.”  
  
“Hey. Domestic is the best shit,” Stiles says, pouting. “Don’t you read fanfiction?” He is glad the mood is already a bit lighter. And there is a slight smile on Chris tired face now.  
  
Peter rolls his eyes. “Next you are asking me to make pancakes.” 

“God yes, please, I didn’t have pancakes for breakfast for ages!” Stiles says and thinks he can already feel his stomach rumble. Maybe, Peter heard it too, because he chuckles.  
  
“Alright. I’ll make you pancakes so you’ll shut up.”  
  
Stiles laughs tiredly. He can feel his eyes fall close. They are so heavy. “I never shut up,” he murmurs. “Only when I’m sleeping.” 

“So do sleep, little one.”  
  
Stiles does. He falls asleep surrounded by warmth and even breaths and quiet murmurs. This isn’t so bad. 


End file.
